I’m not as well as I thought I was. I know this because I’m irrationally angry at the cat. She’s staring at me, begging for food, though she’s already been fed more than enough this morning. I’m clenching my teeth. Angry, angry, angry. Wanting to yell at the cat. When I’m well, I know better. She overeats, so to keep her weight in check, we have to ignore the begging. It’s routine. Nothing to be angry about. My brain knows this, but isn’t cooperating today. It’s been stressed lately.
It started last Monday. A mild sore throat rapidly turned into a raging head cold. By Wednesday, a migraine crawled into bed with us, not displacing the cold. No, it just climbed on top, wrapped it’s horrid arms around us, and held on tight. Thursday, nausea decided to join the party. Friday morning, what little of me remained despaired of ever feeling well again.
I was surprised to wake Saturday morning with no pain. Throat, head, and stomach all felt fine again. I was still coughing and sneezing, still needed a pile of tissues, but something had shifted. My mind was clear again, even though my sinuses weren’t. I couldn’t wait to get out of the house into sunshine and fresh air. Running errands suddenly seemed like the best thing ever. It felt odd, though, that I had gone to bed Friday night certain that nothing would ever matter again, only to wake with none of those thoughts in my head. It felt like I had a bout of viral depression thrown in with everything else.
This morning I’m struggling a bit again. I pushed myself yesterday to clean the house, to make up for losing a week, and now I’m tired. I feel it in my brain. My emotions are unstable, and I’m struggling to write coherently. It’s bothering me that a spring cold took me down so completely. Yes, the migraine was a big factor, but I blame the cold. It started the whole cascade. I’m still feeling the effects.
I’ve decided I’m going to try to be nice to myself today. Take a break from beating myself up about not writing as much as I should be, not blogging as consistently as I did last year, not succeeding in my own life. I’ll let the day unfold however it wants. Nap if I need to. Clean more if I feel like it. Write if I can. Along the way, I’ll be trying to make sense of how I felt last week, how viral the depression felt, how quickly it lifted with the other symptoms. I’ll rest. Recover fully. Maybe even feed the cat.